


Primal

by Lamplighter1623



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Eggsy Unwin, Canon-Typical Violence, Desk Sex, Feral Behavior, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missions Gone Wrong, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Roxy is a good friend, Top Harry Hart, Violence, ambiguous timeline, seriously lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 01:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamplighter1623/pseuds/Lamplighter1623
Summary: It should have been an ordinary mission. It had been well planned. It was incredibly dangerous. Fate of the free world at stake and everything. Just another Thursday evening. Then Merlin was in Eggsy's ear, an edge to his voice that he hadn’t heard in a long time, and everything went wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Classification: Bioterrorism  
>  Designation: ERV622  
> Street Name: Primal  
> Origin: Unknown  
> Threat Level: Red_
> 
> _Agency notes: Compound appears organic in nature. Requires larger sample size for testing. Exposure causes a variety of symptoms, most notably extreme violence. Exposed subjects appear unable to speak, comprehend commands, or recognize familiar persons. Approach affected with caution, avoid exposure at all costs. No known cure._

It should have been an ordinary mission. It had been well planned. It was incredibly dangerous. Fate of the free world at stake and everything. Just another Thursday evening. Intelligence straight from the desk of the director of MI6 had made its way to the Kingsmen, and it was worrying, to say the least. A small, well-funded terrorist cell had not only managed to purchase an extremely dangerous new type of bio-weapon, but also smuggle it through customs. Information provided by an undercover MI6 agent inside the cell indicated that they were out of time. Buyers were lined up and distribution was set to begin early Friday morning. 

Harry and Eggsy had run, low and silent, along a shadow-drenched embankment around the north side of the property, avoiding a single patrolling guard and two security cameras. Once out of sight, they had spilt up as soon as they’d gotten over the fence, wordlessly moving as a unit to separate entrances of the warehouse, set to draw attention and divide the enemy between them so a five-man insertion team could sneak in through the roof. Roxy was two miles back the way they had come, sitting silently in a parcel delivery truck, ready to move in and whisk them away when their mission was complete. 

Eggsy had clamored noisily up a rusty set of metal stairs, and slammed dramatically through an equally rusty door, making sure to let it hit the wall with a resounding CLANG. He had stared down a long hallway, dimly lit with flickering florescent lights and everything. So cliché. Bodies had poured from the evenly spaced doorways and voices had shouted in a language Eggsy didn’t know yet, so he had just cracked his neck, smiled, and set to work. Everything went smoothly on his end, and he was in good spirits as his last opponent fell at his feet, unconscious. Then Merlin was in his ear, an edge to his voice that Eggsy hadn’t heard in a long time, and everything went wrong. 

\------------------------

Eggsy is sitting at the long meeting table, tapping his fingers angrily on the polished wood. Representatives from other Kingsman branches had just finished blinking out of existence when he’d opened his mouth, only to be silenced by Merlin’s hand in the air, followed by a sympathetic look from Roxy. 

“Here.” Merlin sighs, sliding a slim, black flash drive across the table to Eggsy, and frowning when he winces reaching for it. “Why aren’t you wearing your sling? Your shoulder was completely dislocated not two hours ago.” Eggsy only shrugs, which is stupid, because it makes him wince again. He stands without answering and strides quickly from the room, Roxy following close behind. 

“I’m not waiting for a debrief and a bloody _report_ on what happened, Rox.” He mumbles, his strides long and fast, forcing her to jog to keep up with him. 

“I know.” Is all she says. 

In his room, Eggsy waits for Roxy to squeeze past him, then kicks the door closed and locks it, moving quickly to his desk, where his laptop is waiting. The clothes he’d been wearing at the warehouse were in a messy pile on his bed, left where he’d thrown them when Merlin had insisted he go down and shower, just to make sure he didn’t have any residue on him. He is now in his favorite tracksuit, which is easier on his aching body than the restrictive tactical clothing. Roxy moves the pile aside to make room for herself to sit on the bunk. The flash drive is plugged in and loading its contents onto the screen before Eggsy’s ass even hits his small desk chair, and he hits play on the feed from Harry’s glasses. He skips forward through their ride with Roxy in the truck, their stealthy approach along the embankment, climbing the fence, and splitting toward separate doors. As soon as Harry reached his door, Eggsy slows the speed to normal, and they watch the disaster unfold on his screen.

Harry’s door opens into a large, brightly lit hangar. The display on his lenses instantly counts fifteen enemy combatants, and one undercover MI6 agent, non combatant, all crowded around a cluster of small tables. Surprise registers on the faces around the room, and Harry is already moving, taking out the two closest to the door within seconds, and flipping up a metal table to shield himself from the first hail of gunfire. 

“Man, he is good.“ Roxy says quietly from the bunk. Eggsy watches as Harry methodically makes his way through the room, dispatching every enemy he comes across with ease, before reaching the stunned-looking agent. 

“How many are in the lab?” Eggsy hears Harry ask, and they watch the agent’s face slide smoothly back into professionalism. 

“Should be six, with two on guard in the hallway.” Harry nods. 

“Move, there’s a car three miles due south, your handler will call the phone inside the glove compartment in-” Harry’s glasses point down at his watch, “-eleven minutes.” The agent nods thanks and disappears from the screen, and Harry is moving again, crossing the room and passing through a small door toward the back. Down a long hallway and through another set of double doors, Harry encounters the two burly guards, and takes only moments to incapacitate them both. Then, he is inside the lab. 

Eggsy pauses the feed, straightening from where he’d been hunched over the keyboard, staring intently at the screen. His heart is hammering loudly in his chest, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself, flinching when a sharp stab of pain in his side sends a white-hot lance of agony through him. Roxy’s hand lights on his arm, squeezing gently. Eggsy looks at her, and her face is soothing, comforting. Eggsy smiles stiffly at her, then turns back to the screen, and continues the feed. 

The “lab” is really just a long, sterile-looking room, with hastily constructed work stations scattered around the center of the room. Harry’s glasses identify five enemy combatants when he enters, along with an overwhelming number of dangerous substances stored in open containers and jars, scattered over every surface. The ensuing fight is pathetic. These men and women are obviously not soldiers, but scientists, who can barely defend themselves let alone stand against Harry. They surrender easily and Harry checks his watch again. His momentary distraction is his downfall. Eggsy watches the glasses register movement to Harry’s left, in his blind spot, and the split second it takes for Harry to react is too long. The video swings to the left, and standing there is a man, pale and sick looking, with pallid skin stretched paper-thin across jutting cheekbones. He is wearing some kind of breathing mask, but Eggsy can see the wicked smile in the man’s sunken eyes. He says something in that language Eggsy doesn't know, and suddenly the feed goes white. Roxy’s hand tightens reflexively on his arm, and Eggsy thinks for a moment his laptop has shorted out. But he can still hear Harry, coughing now, and knocking over what sounds like a tray of empty glass beakers. Eggsy realizes then that it was some sort of powder. The man had thrown something on Harry. 

“Merlin, I’ve been compromised.” Harry wheezes, coughing to clear his throat and lungs. 

“What happened?” Merlin’s voice is sharp on the recording, and Eggsy can faintly hear a keyboard tapping in the background. 

“A man, I didn’t see him. He threw a powder at me.” 

“Shit, Galahad, get to a door. Find a room and shut yourself inside. The insertion team is almost there.” 

“I can’t… I can’t see.” Harry’s voice is strange, low and hollow-sounding. 

“Galahad… Harry, you have to find a door. Lock yourself inside a room, now.” 

Harry doesn't answer. Eggsy watches him wipe at his glasses, his one good eye, and stumble toward a large, industrial sink. Water splashes across the screen and a loud bang echoes in the room. Harry’s head swings immediately toward the noise, and Eggsy watches the five-man insertion team enter the room. The scientists who had surrendered are rising slowly from the floor, eyes on Harry as they back toward the newcomers. Even the man in the mask is backing away carefully, hands raised, placating, but with the wicked gleam still present in his eyes. 

“Good work, Galahad. Let’s get-” Eggsy watches the leader of the other team pause and place a hand to his ear, listening. His expression goes from pride in a job well done to fear in a heartbeat, and suddenly five sets of automatic weapons are trained on Harry. Eggsy gasps, gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn white, and watches Harry launch himself forward. He doesn't go for the armed agents though, he sets himself on the scientists, who scream and scramble away, panicked. Eggsy watches in horror as Harry kills three of them, two snapped necks and a carotid artery severed cleanly with a broken shard of glass. The agents surround him, all screaming simultaneously at Harry to get down, to stop moving, to let them help. Harry kills two of them so quickly Eggsy doesn't even catch how he does it.

Eggsy pauses the video again, his breath coming fast and hard, his vision swimming as his eyes well up. He can hear Roxy behind him, she sounds like she is struggling not to cry. He glances at the timestamp on the feed, and knows that at this point, he was already running through the maze of doors and halls, following Merlin’s directions and racing toward Harry. He can't believe how much has to happen in the next 47 seconds to make the room match his own memories of bursting through the door against the far wall. Hesitantly pressing play again, Eggsy lets the 47 seconds tick by, and watches as one by one, Harry kills every person in the room. When Eggsy sees himself enter the frame, he sees the shock on his own face, and remembers the feel of it. Like being drenched in ice water. It had crashed over him and rooted him to the floor. Harry’s feed had swung toward the noise of his entrance, and suddenly Eggsy has to pause the video again, a frown on his face. 

“What is it?“ Roxy breathes. The last words Harry had said had been to Merlin, ‘I can’t see.’ Harry hadn’t made a single noise since that exchange, in spite of numerous attempts at interaction from Merlin and the insertion team. Eggsy rewinds the feed ten seconds and watches again as the video swings toward the sound of his entrance, takes in his shocked look. Shaking his head, Eggsy rewinds again, turning his volume all the way up and leaning close to the speakers. Pressing play, Eggsy listens to the loud bang of the door, watches Harry’s head swivel toward him, and hears his mentor whisper a soft, strangled, desperate: 

“Eggsy… no.” 

\------------------------

Merlin’s office is dimly lit and while the furnishings are rather spartan, it is usually a space where Eggsy feels comfortable and safe, joking around with Merlin and watching Harry out on assignment. There is nothing comfortable now in the way Merlin dodges his metal office chair, sent skidding noisily across the tiled floor after Eggsy kicks it in a rage.

“Absolutely not.” Merlin says again, his arms crossed over his chest and his face a carefully schooled mask of calm indifference in the face of Eggsy’s fury. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t risk losing another agent like that.”

“You saw the video, Merlin.” Eggsy’s voice is starting to lose its edge, anger giving way to raw desperation. “You heard him. He recognized me.”

“And then he attacked you. Dislocated your shoulder, cracked two of your ribs. Tried to strangle you!”

“But he didn’t kill me.”

“Only because you managed to tranquilize him first. Eggsy…” Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses askew and sighing heavily. “We’ve recalled all of our active agents from the field, and contacted the other Kingsman branches. When everyone gets safely back in, we’ll discuss a plan.”

“No, that could take days.” Eggsy snarles. 

“He was heavily drugged when you brought him in and he still nearly broke my arm. He hospitalized seven people when we tried to get him in that room.” Merlin’s voice is rising with anger to match Eggsy’s, and he gestures aggressively at the monitors on the wall. Half of them are showing live footage of Harry, locked securely inside an office bunker down the hall, destroying absolutely everything he can get his hands on. “I can’t allow you to go in there!”

“You can’t stop him.” Roxy’s voice is calm and quiet from the corner, and both of the men turn to look at her. “Technically.” She shrugs at Merlin, her look apologetic. 

“She’s right.” Eggsy says, as much a realization on his part as a statement to Merlin. Technically, Eggsy and Merlin are equals within Kingsman now. Barring physical restraint, Merlin can't stop Eggsy from seeing Harry. Merlin’s eyes shift from furious to sad in an instant, and he deflates. 

“No, I can’t stop you.”

Eggsy is already out the door, his sneakers pounding a beat into the polished floor as he runs down the hall toward the door that will lead him to Harry. He doesn't hesitate for a second, just skids to a stop in front of the door and places his hand on the bio-security panel set into the wall. Merlin’s voice speaks softly in his ear, and Eggsy realizes he hasn’t taken out his comms earpiece. 

“Be careful, Eggsy. If it comes down to you or Harry, I won’t hesitate. He’s compromised, you know the protocols. Don’t make me have to do that.” 

“Just open the door, Merlin.” Eggsy replies, his own anger tempered by the real fear he hears in Merlin’s voice. It isn’t Eggsy’s safety that Merlin is concerned about, it's the possibility of having to put down his oldest friend like a rabid dog. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” The panel under his fingers flashes from red to green, and Eggsy hears the sound of sliding metal locks disengaging. He pulls the heavy door open before Merlin has a chance to change his mind, and ducks inside. Before it can close, Roxy appears in the hallway, and sticks her arm through the opening, handing him an empty syringe. 

“Try to get a blood sample. I might be able to synthesize a cure.” she whispers, and Eggsy nods, pocketing the syringe, squeezing her hand for just a moment, and giving her a grateful smile. Then she pulls her arm back, the door slams shut and locks itself again with air of finality, and Eggsy is suddenly standing alone in the room with Harry. 

The office is destroyed. It's dark, and Eggsy can hardly see light fixtures hanging by bare wires from the walls where Harry has ripped them right from their bolts. The only light in the room comes from the two recessed emergency lights in the ceiling near the door, and it takes a moment for Eggsy's glasses to adjust to the dimness and allow him to see clearly. Harry’s outline is highlighted in red for a brief moment, and the word CAUTION flashes across the display on Eggsy‘s glasses, then fades The heavy wooden book case that had taken up much of the wall to Eggsy’s right is lying flat on the floor, books sprawled across the rug on bent pages and ruined spines. Office supplies which had once been neatly arranged on the large oak desk against the opposite wall are scattered across the rug. Harry is standing with his back to Eggsy, his hands braced wide apart on the top of the desk, shoulders heaving along with his labored breathing, and Eggsy has a momentary flash of doubt. If Merlin is right, and he probably is, they’d already had extensive testing done on the effects this ‘drug’ had on people, there is a very high probability that Eggsy is about to die at the hand of his mentor. 

Will Harry be able to forgive himself for that? God, Eggsy hopes so. 

“Harry?” 

“Eggsy, be careful.” Merlin’s voice chirps in his ear, and Eggsy yanks out the earpiece in annoyance, dropping it on the floor. 

“How ya doin‘?” Eggsy calls out again, his voice gentle. He takes a tentative step into the room, and his foot knocks against an empty pencil cup, making a soft ‘ting’ sound. Harry flinches like he’d been struck, and makes a strangled kind of sound. Eggsy can see him more clearly now that his eyes had adjusted, and he can see the tightness of Harry’s fists on the desktop, the strain of his muscles underneath his rumpled, blood-spattered shirt. Eggsy’s hands splay out, open palmed and lose at his sides, ready to defend himself if needed, as he carefully picks his way forward.

“DON’T!” Harry bellows when Eggsy accidentally steps on a pencil, snapping it in two. Eggsy freezes. Harry is leaning more heavily on the desk now, every muscle in his body seemed drawn so tight he is trembling. Eggsy doesn't know what to do, so he just stays where he is, frozen only a few steps away from his mentor. A long, tense silence stretches through the room like a living thing, twisting around the two men and squeezing until Eggsy can't take it anymore. 

“Harry-”

The older man lets out another strangled, bit-off cry, and rounds on Eggsy, closing the distance between them in an instant. Eggsy can't even react, he is so struck by the look on Harry’s face. Even when Harry grabs him and yanks on his injured arm, Eggsy doesn't resist, but allows himself to be thrown violently over the desk and into the mess of papers on the floor beyond. He gasps painfully for air when he hits the floor and his cracked ribs scream in protest, but he doesn't have time to dwell on the pain, because Harry has already launched himself in one smooth movement over the desk and is hauling Eggsy back up, slamming him against the wall and pinning him there. Eggsy is finally face to face with his mentor, and he could swear he actually _hears_ his heart break. 

Harry is absolutely _wrecked_. A riot of untamed chestnut curls stick up around his face, which is filled with a mixture of rage and pure terror. Harry’s one eye is bright, jumping over Eggsy’s face wildly. His hands, curled vice-like around Eggsy’s wrists where they are now pinned just over his head, are shaking and feverish. His whole body is drawn taut, vibrating with the effort to hold himself back, just inches from Eggsy’s body. 

“I said… don’t.” Harry’s voice is rough, strained, shaking with exertion. Unable to do much of anything else, Eggsy only shrugs with his good shoulder and flashes a roguish smile. 

“Yeah, I don’t tend to listen to you, mate.” Harry’s sudden, punched-out exhale could have almost been a laugh, but something unreadable and dangerous flashes over his face, and then he crashes into Eggsy like a truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! My job is very boring, so this is the kind of thing I do inside my brain to keep myself occupied. I hope I don't work with any secret telepaths, that would be embarrassing.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thanks for reading! ~


	2. Chapter 2

If Eggsy had thought Harry’s hands were hot, then his body is incendiary, pressed so tightly against him there is scarcely enough space for the breath that Harry knocks out of him. It puffs hot across Harry’s face, and hangs there like a ghost in that empty no-man’s land between them. Barely an inch of empty air, filled to bursting with every unspoken word, every unacknowledged glance that had ever passed between them. Every casual for the sake of business brush of knuckles against arms, every knee that had gently knocked across the space between them on every turn in the back of the car, just for a fleeting moment of contact. 

Eggsy barely has enough time to suck in a fresh lungful of air that slips over his tongue with a taste like forbidden fruit, before Harry’s mouth crashes against his, and Eggsy’s entire body lights up like a New Year’s fireworks show. It is too violent to be called anything as innocent as a ‘kiss’, all biting teeth, gasping breath, and hard, grinding press of Harry’s body against his. Eggsy’s mind stalls, a rush hour gridlock of confusion, pain, and sudden, unexpected arousal, and his whole world comes crashing down in tiny, glittering pieces when the pressure forces his mouth open, and Harry’s tongue slides smoothly past his lips.

There are no words in any language that Eggsy has learned to describe the feel of Harry’s body pushed in so close against his that he isn’t sure exactly where the line of him ends and the older man begins. Or for the way that Harry is licking into his mouth, like the secret to life and universal happiness is hidden somewhere in the dark spaces between his back molars. Eggsy can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t _think_. His entire existence narrows to this moment; the closeness, the heat. Is it his heart hammering so loudly in his ears, or Harry’s? The rapid, staccato rhythm seems to echo off the walls of the small office like a wild thing trapped in a cage, desperate for release. 

A soft, mewling sound reaches Eggsy’s ears, and if he’d had the presence of mind to process such emotion at that exact moment, he might have been embarrassed to realize that it had come from his own throat. Instead, he only follows it up with a soft grunt as Harry surges impossibly closer in response, a low, predatory growl echoing deep in his chest and vibrating right through to Eggsy’s bones. 

Harry slides down a few inches, a thickly muscled thigh pressing against Eggsy’s knees, forcing them apart and sliding between, bringing Eggsy’s pelvis into crushing contact with Harry’s hip, and suddenly Eggsy’s world narrows even further, to this one, feverish point of contact. When Harry straightens to his full height again, he carries Eggsy up with him, leaving the toes of his trainers only just touching the soft carpet. Eggsy becomes suddenly, painfully aware of how fucking _hard_ he is, and his hips try to buck against the smooth press of Harry’s hip. That delicious growl again, sending shivers and firecracker sparks of arousal skipping up Eggsy’s spine, and his wrists, still trapped in the vice-tight grip of Harry’s hands, are dragged upward, stretching him long and lean between Harry and the wall. 

It is this that finally breaks the moment. Like a crystal wine glass dropped onto a tiled floor, it shatters when the strain on his shoulder sends a blinding shear of agony through Eggsy, and he tears his mouth away from Harry’s with a shocked cry. Harry immediately stills against him, moving only to release Eggsy’s wrists and allow his hands to fall back down. Eggsy breathes raggedly through the waves of pain, his arms automatically folding between them so that his hands are resting on Harry’s chest. He feels the way Harry’s body heaves with every breath, feels the midsummer sunburn heat radiating from his skin even through his shirt, feels the jackhammer beat of Harry’s heart under his fingertips. 

Eggsy looks up into Harry’s face again, and this time there is no anger, no terror, only heat and hunger… and concern. Harry’s hand slides along Eggsy’s arm slowly, gently probing at overheated skin, until he reaches his shoulder and Eggsy winces again. Harry’s fingers move carefully, whisper-soft against the fabric of Eggsy’s track suit, feeling the muscle swollen from trauma, the soft grinding of a recently displaced joint.

The hissing ‘ _slide-chunk_ ’ of the locks on the bunker door sounds a million miles away to Eggsy, but Harry is already whipping around to face the intruder, his face clouding again with rage. Eggsy only blinks and breathes, still feeling slightly adrift, until he sees Merlin slide into the room, a revolver cocked and ready in his hands. Eggsy has only a handful of heartbeats to react as he sees Harry bristle at the sight of the weapon, turning fully to face Merlin and take a step toward him, allowing Eggsy to settle back onto his own two feet. Merlin’s eyes seem to widen with surprise at seeing Eggsy still standing, if only barely, but then those eyes go hard and cold, and the revolver comes up, leveled directly at Harry’s heart. Eggsy suddenly remembers, with a cold wash of embarrassment and fear, that Merlin has cameras in this room, and had probably only seen Harry attack him. 

_“Three in the chest, center mass, brings your enemy down,”_ echoes in Eggsy’s ears, spreading dread through him like an inky black poison, _“one between the eyes to ensure he stays down.”_

Eggsy doesn’t even have to time to think, he just grabs Harry’s arm and uses it for leverage, swinging himself around his mentor’s body and standing squarely between the two older agents, blocking Merlin’s line of fire and wrapping his arms securely around Harry’s trim waist. He braces his feet against the carpet, using all of his strength to hold on to Harry, and he can feel the muscles of the older man, coiled-spring tight with aggression as he fights against Eggsy to get to Merlin.

“Move-” Merlin’s voice barks from behind him but Eggsy interrupts him, with a heave against Harry to knock him back a few steps, Eggsy glances over his shoulder, hoping his face is convincing enough.

“I’m fine! Go!” 

“Eggsy-”

“Get out!” Eggsy screams, losing the battle as Harry’s larger frame surges forward, and Eggsy’s trainers slide through the papers on the floor almost a full meter before he manages to get traction again and stop their advance. “Merlin, go! Please!” Merlin’s face is full of doubt, but he lowers the revolver a few scant inches, studying Eggsy’s face for what feels like an eternity, then gives him one curt nod, and disappears back through the door. 

Eggsy hears the locks re-engage, and suddenly he is airborne. There is a dizzying moment where the whole room tips sideways, and then his back lands hard on the polished desktop, skull cracking painfully against the solid oak. He cries out, and Harry is there, shoved up between his knees, hands planted in trembling fists against the wood, bracketed on either side of Eggsy’s shoulders. 

Black spots dance across Eggsy’s vision for a moment, and he blinks furiously to clear them, staring up into Harry’s face, which is again a mess of conflicting emotions. Fear, sorrow, dark, simmering rage, and that hungry heat that has his one pupil blown wide as his gaze slides along Eggsy’s body. 

“Harry?” comes out softer than he’d intended, more than a whisper, but only just. Warm, and melting around the edges like chocolate in an oven. Harry responds by grinding his hips down, hard, into Eggsy, and the heat that blooms under his skin is golden and bright, bubbling through his veins like expensive champagne. He’s already drunk on it, a flush working its way like a lover up from under his collar to stain all the way to his hairline.

Eggsy can lie all he wants, but he knows he hasn’t been fooling anybody, least of all himself, in pretending that his eyes don’t catch and stick on Harry whenever they are in a room together. That he hasn’t spent nights alone, gasping into the darkness of his tiny London flat, Harry’s name tumbling from his lips as he comes over his own fist.

Harry only gets the zipper of his tracksuit jacket down halfway before he gives up and just rips it apart. The plain white tank top beneath provides no protection as Harry’s hands slide, sun-surface hot, over the planes of Eggsy’s belly, rucking the thin fabric up to his armpits, and then Harry’s mouth is on him, and Eggsy’s voice is well above a whisper now. 

There’s a bone-deep groan that slips the rails on its way out of Harry when he finally slides his tongue in one long swipe from Eggsy’s navel all the way to his collarbone, like Harry had been lost for weeks in a desert and had finally stumbled across a fresh, cool mountain spring, and Eggsy can’t lie to himself and say there isn’t a tiny, traitorous curl of satisfaction that springs to life inside his chest at the sound of it. The way Harry has curled over him has Eggsy’s legs spread wide, knees almost up to his own chest, and Harry is rocking, slowly, mindlessly, against him. It’s maddening, the press and drag of Harry’s wool trousers against Eggsy’s sweats, the obvious hardness of the older man’s erection grinding into the flesh of his ass, Eggsy’s own erection aching and trapped out of reach between their bodies, somehow nestled into the only hollow between them where Harry _wasn’t_ touching. 

Eggsy has a strange sensation of being just a bit off-center, like standing on the ledge between two buildings and knowing that if he tried to make the jump he would definitely fall, but kind of wanting to jump anyway. 

He should stop this. It would be easy enough. Harry is off-balance, leaning so far over Eggsy to lick and bite at the hot line of his collarbone, nosing along his neck and sinking teeth just this side of too hard into the spot where Eggsy’s pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird under his skin. Incapacitate Harry, take a blood sample, and get the hell out of this room and away from the warm, bright ache that is blooming in his chest as Harry mouths his way up the column of Eggsy‘s throat, branding his skin with every searing press of lips.

Eggsy knows that this is something they will never be able to come back from. Harry will never look at him the same again. They’ll never sit comfortably in his study, sipping whiskey and laughing about past missions, or spend long hours sparring in the gym with the easy familiarity only time and friendship can bring. Harry will never forgive himself, or Eggsy, if this continues.

Eggsy knows all of this. 

So when Harry’s tongue slides velvet-smooth along the hinge of his jaw, then stops to lift that one, fever-bright eye to meet his gaze, and Eggsy can see the raw _need_ there, it feels a little like dying when he takes the jump, and wraps his arms around Harry’s broad shoulders with a sigh as broken as his heart.

\------------------------------

Harry had always been a fantastic liar, easily capable of convincing nearly anyone of nearly anything. So it shouldn’t have come as any kind of shock when he’d first seen Eggsy burst through that door in the warehouse, and his drug-clouded mind had zeroed in on him. After all, this chemical concoction was _designed_ to drag out your most basic, primal urges, and Harry had been lying to himself about those for years.

He’d watched Eggsy grow up after his father had died, always unseen, always from a distance. He’d noticed when the boy shot up a full foot in his first year of high school, been too aware of the way he spent the next three years slowly filling out with long, lean muscle. But there were lines a gentleman simply did not cross, and for Harry, one of those lines had been seducing his dead friend’s teenaged son. 

Apparently ‘Primal’ has no consideration for Harry’s uncrossable lines. 

His mind is clouded, filled with fog or smoke or… who the fuck cares. Harry only knows that he can’t think, and he can’t stop. Not now, not with Eggsy squirming beneath him like that, sighing his name with hands clutching at the back of his shirt and wetness on his dark lashes. 

Is Eggsy crying?

The passing thought, the first one in hours to ring clear as a bell inside his overtaxed skull, sets his teeth on edge, a simmering spread of angry flame licking along his nerves that someone would dare hurt Eggsy. _His_ Eggsy. 

He is sick of working around the fabric bunched up under Eggsy’s arms, and tears it clean off him, wrenching the sleeves of the hideous tracksuit jacket down, where it becomes tangled and trapped around Eggsy’s wrists. There is a noise in the room that sounds like a yelp of pain, but Harry doesn’t have time for someone else’s problems, he only has time for his mouth on Eggsy’s. Swallows something that tastes like a sob as he tugs at Eggsy’s hair, yanking his head into the perfect angle to reach further into his mouth with the next aggressive dive of his tongue. 

He smells something familiar in the spot just behind Eggsy‘s ear, and a memory tickles at the back of his mind for a full minute before he can place it. His own cologne. A rumbling laugh echoes through him, a context-less thought rising to the surface of the black sea that is his mind before slipping again beneath the waves: Eggsy the magpie, with the exasperating tendency to sneak away with tiny bits of Harry every time he leaves his mentor’s house. 

Who invented pants? Harry’s fingers itch with the need to snap that person’s neck. Eggsy is twisting awkwardly beneath him, trying to free his arms from his jacket, when Harry quickly steps back and yanks his sweats clean off of him. Eggsy’s almost pulled off the desk, and if his squeak of surprise is less than manly, Harry doesn’t notice, just dives right back into the heated air just above Eggsy’s skin, and licks a broad stripe right along a jutting hip bone. 

Harry is distantly aware of the way that Eggsy has frozen in place, back arched beautifully over his trapped hands, legs hanging over the edge of the desk, mouth swollen and wet, eyes wide and staring as Harry backs up and repeats the motion, tasting the saltwater-sweet tang of sweat on Eggsy’s skin. Something bumps the side of his face and he turns to see Eggsy’s cock, flushed and hard, jutting straight up out of a neatly trimmed tangle of curls. Without hesitation Harry drops to his knees and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, the next drag of his tongue runs along the entire length of that cock, base to tip. There’s a thudding sound which draws Harry’s attention, and he sees that Eggsy’s head has fallen back against the desk, his mouth hanging open on the tail end of a moan. 

“Oh, _fuck_ , Harry.” knocks around in his skull for a moment before it can be deciphered as words, then heat explodes up Harry’s spine like a match touched to a line of gunpowder. He has his mouth on Eggsy in an instant, swallowing him all the way to the root, and the bitten-off shout that claws its way out of Eggsy’s throat gets an answering hum of satisfaction from Harry. Eggsy’s struggling again, writhing on the desktop as he pulls at his trapped arms, fights to get away, tries to slide closer, fucks up into the wet heat of Harry’s mouth with uneven, desperate little jerks of his hips. Harry swallows him down effortlessly, his throat opening with practiced ease, and Eggsy isn’t trying to get away now. Doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything except struggling to breathe. 

Harry loses himself in the sensations. The smooth slide of hot velvet past his lips, the faint smell of soap on the skin under his nose, the hitching gasps of breath that sync perfectly with the erratic jumps of the younger man’s hips. Harry’s hands slide up the backs of Eggsy’s calves, then twist around his knees and settle on the inside of each thigh, gentle pressure spreading legs wider, and Harry can feel Eggsy’s heartbeat jack hammering through that all-important artery just under his palm. 

It isn’t until those legs start scrambling against him, desperately looking for purchase to get away, that Harry even realizes that Eggsy has already come. He pulls off slowly, cheeks hollowing as he sucks out every last drop and listens to the sweet sound of Eggsy’s voice echoing off the walls. His mouth is bitter, and hot, and when he spits into his hand he almost comes himself, untouched and still trapped inside his own trousers. 

Eggsy jumps like a startled rabbit when Harry’s come-slick fingers slide southward, and his teeth close on a particularly tender-looking spot on a trembling thigh. 

“Harry, wait,” comes out a bit shaky on the dismount, breathless and unsure. But Harry doesn’t wait. Can’t wait. Can’t even see straight. 

The way Eggsy’s back bows up when Harry slips that first finger inside of him is a memory Harry will hold onto until the day he dies. Tight, clutching heat pulls at him, and a very tiny, far away voice shrieks that it’s too soon when he slots a second finger in beside the first, but Eggsy’s gasping whine is all Harry can hear as he crawls up the younger man’s body, branding every inch along the way with teeth and tongue and _mine._

Oh, this boy. 

This sweet, hot, beautiful boy. 

Eggsy’s head is tilted back, mouth slack and panting, and Harry licks a long, wet stripe up his throat, feeling the dip of Eggsy’s adam’s apple when he swallows thickly under Harry’s tongue. Harry’s heart trips headlong into a new rhythm, forsaking its job of keeping him alive in favor of slamming against his ribs a staccato beat of _Eggsy, Eggsy, mine, mine, mine._ Harry doesn’t even realize he’s saying it aloud, painting it like a claim against the skin of Eggsy’s neck, until Eggsy turns his head, pressing his cheek against Harry’s and half-sobbing directly into his mentor’s ear a single, devastating word: 

“Yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've decided to extend this into three chapters, because I'm having some trouble with the ending, but I don't want to leave you guys hanging. Thank you so much to everyone who's read so far, and left comments and kudos! This is my first time writing in this fandom, so I'm glad you like it! ~


	3. Chapter 3

Harry’s mind has become a fractured battleground. Thoughts and emotions bubble to the surface, then slip back down through the cracks, fighting for space in the dim light of reason and awareness. 

_Yours._

It echoes in his head like a scream, in his heart like a prayer, and it is somehow both knife and bandage, simultaneously wounding and healing him. Harry’s entire being has narrowed, years of training and discipline peeled away, leaving him raw and exposed. 

_No, stop this._

_Keep going, take him._

_He’ll never forgive you._

_You’re probably dying anyway._

_It’s Eggsy!_

_…It’s Eggsy._

The war rages, fragmented and chaotic inside his mind, even as his fingers flex and twist inside his young apprentice, sharpening Eggsy’s breath in little gasps which puff hot into the curls above Harry’s ear. Eggsy is so tight, clenching around him fiercely when Harry slips a third finger inside, that a most improbable notion slips like a specter through his mind: _Is Eggsy a virgin?_

The thought hits him like a punch in the gut, and again he is struck by the duality of the effect the idea has on him. Abject horror that Eggsy’s first experience, and likely Harry’s only with him, would be this violent and beastly thing. But also a sharp, white-hot spike of arousal that pierces through him at the thought that Harry would be the first man to drive himself deep into Eggsy’s body. 

_First and last_. Rises unbidden from the recesses of his mind, and the growl that escapes him sounds feral, his free hand sliding up Eggsy’s chest, curling around his neck, and carding into his hair. Fingers clenching and pulling, he wrenches Eggsy’s head back, giving himself full access to the smooth expanse of the younger man’s throat. Already there are marks, red-violet blooms of color staining pale flesh, and it makes Harry’s mouth water to see them there. The shape of his lips branded on Eggsy’s skin, proof that he was here, laying claim to this beautiful body. 

“Harry.” Eggsy gasps in a way that makes Harry think he’d been repeating it. He hums in response, running his tongue over a particularly dark bruise just above the younger man’s collarbone, and curling the fingers buried deep inside in such a way to make Eggsy’s back arch up again, the sight of which Harry was becoming quite addicted to. 

Harry’s lost, awash in a sea of tactile sensation. His hands are stiff with a familiar ache, knuckles abused and protesting. His leg has a peculiar twinge low behind his knee, and there’s a pounding behind the empty socket where his eye used to be, a rhythmic spike of pain with every beat of his heart. Then there’s Eggsy, overriding his senses and calling to him in a way that has nothing to do with voices or the shape of Harry’s name on those soft, delicious lips. The smell of sweat and sex. The warmth rising from Eggsy’s body. The scent of Harry’s cologne on that heated skin. Eggsy’s eyes the dangerous dark blue of the sea just before a storm, the kind of eyes people went missing in.

The hand in Eggsy’s hair twitches, pulling tight against the younger man’s scalp, and the whine that comes out of him makes Harry freeze. A sudden surge of instinctual savagery washes over the older man: attack, pin, bite, _fuck_. Some inner dam breaks loose and images flood his mind, overwhelming him.

_Eggsy, covered in bite marks and hickeys, sweaty and spent, with come drying on his belly and Harry’s name on his lips._

_Eggsy, face down on the desk, arms wrenched behind his back._

_Eggsy, bent backward with a cock in his ass and Harry’s fingers hooked into his mouth, holding his jaw open so Harry can hear him scream._

Fingers motionless inside the younger man, his back and arms trembling with the effort to restrain himself, Harry stands stiff and breathless. His last shreds of will and reason lock his body down, curled over Eggsy like a cage as he desperately fights for control of his own mind.

“Harry?” slips soft and breathy between them, and the sugar-sweet concern Harry hears clinging to the word almost sends him over the edge. Eggsy shifting beneath him to adjust his arms where they are still trapped awkwardly behind his back doesn’t help matters, especially when the movement twists him down onto Harry fingers and makes both of them groan. A single string of reason plucks itself in Harry’s mind, a sour note in the endless hum of instinct and desire. _Don’t do this, Eggsy doesn’t want this. He thinks he’s helping. He wants to help. You’ll break him. You’ll lose him._

Belatedly, Harry sees his way out. There’s no chance of him wrenching himself away from Eggsy on his own, but with some help, maybe…

Releasing Eggsy’s hair, Harry’s hand slides down the boy’s body and behind, twisting and pulling at the tangled jacket until Eggsy’s hands slide free. Harry tracks the movement of the younger agent’s arms as they come around between them, allowing Eggsy to settle flat onto his back. Harry’s tense, but shifts his bulk purposefully to one side, and waits. Easier for Eggsy to hook a leg behind him, knock his arms out and shove him over the side of the desk onto the floor. Harry thinks he can keep himself there, in the dimness, among the other discarded Kingsman-issue equipment in this outdated and unneeded office, until Eggsy can get to the door. Let the boy go, let him escape from everything that Harry had been trying all these years to ignore. Set it all back, teacher and student, coworkers, partners. Forget this ever happened, while they still can. 

Eggsy’s hands are quick, as always, ascending so fast Harry has trouble tracking the movement, and Harry flinches when they reach for him, ready for the last burst of violent rejection that will tear Eggsy from his arms forever. 

But Eggsy doesn’t throw him off. 

His leg hooks, not behind Harry’s knees, but into the small of his back, holding him in place as those quick, clever hands slide around Harry’s shoulders and tighten, providing Eggsy the leverage to haul himself up, and shove his tongue into Harry’s mouth. It tips Harry straight over the edge he’d been fighting against, and launches him head-first into the abyss.

\------------------------

Eggsy feels molten, fluid and blisteringly hot trapped inside the too-tight stretch of his own skin. He’s hard again, and whining wordlessly with the ache of it as Harry’s fingers resume their assault, curling and pressing inside of him, sending feverish little shocks of pleasure up his spine and down into his toes. Beneath his fingertips he feels the expensive fabric of Harry's shirt slipping over the flex of hard muscle, listens to the ragged breathing of the older agent as Eggsy sucks on his bottom lip, a gentle nip of sharp teeth sending a desperate moan vibrating through his mentor.

One long, precisely-aimed slide of Harry’s fingers over his prostate has Eggsy falling away from Harry’s mouth with a gasp and clutching so tightly at the back of his shirt that he hears the snap of popping buttons. 

“Oh, fuck. Please, Harry, _please_.” sounds unnecessarily needy even to Eggsy’s ears, but he’s far beyond caring, content to ride Harry’s fingers as they twist and press, no longer encountering any resistance as they slide easily inside him. But just when Eggsy is beginning to feel the slow-building heat of another climax pooling at the base of his spine, Harry’s fingers are gone, and Eggsy falls back onto the desk, left adrift in the sudden flood of cold air filling the void above him where Harry had just been. He blinks his eyes open with no memory of having closed them, and fights to focus on the older man where he’s standing between Eggsy’s spread knees. 

Harry looks like every wet dream Eggsy'd ever had, and then some. His white button down is missing all its buttons, hanging loosely from his shoulders and framing the hard planes of his chest and stomach. His hair is mussed and wild around his face, a flushed heat staining high on his cheekbones as he stares at Eggsy with such a predatory hunger that Eggsy feels a hot spike of arousal punch straight through him, stealing all the air from his lungs just for good measure. 

Eggsy would bet everything he had ever owned that not a single person on this planet had seen Harry Hart like this. No one had witnessed so much heat in Harry’s gaze, so much desperation in his body that his hands, normally elegant and efficient in all things, were fumbling like a horny teenager’s at his belt. The sight of his mentor, of Harry Fucking Hart, panting with need and looking at Eggsy like he was the only fixed point in the universe, has the younger man surging upward, sliding to the edge of the desk and knocking Harry’s hands away from his belt, making quick work of the strip of leather and the buttons underneath. 

Thinking back on all the reports he’d read over the months they’d been working this case, Eggsy tries to remember if the effects of the drug could be transmitted between humans. It would certainly explain the feverish need inside him as he squirms closer, pulls Harry’s waistband open with such force that the older man stumbles forward a step and has to brace himself with one hand on the desk, bent awkwardly over Eggsy as the younger man slides his tongue in a broad, wet stripe along the heated skin just beneath Harry’s collarbone. 

His mind rifles quickly through all the information he’d absorbed, single lines of text jumping in highlighted relief to answer his question: _Non-transferable between human or animal. Greatest risk: extremely elevated levels of violence in all observed cases. No observed recognition or response to familiar persons._

As soon as he gets his hand inside Harry’s trousers, Eggsy’s mind derails completely. His fingers curl around thick, heavy heat, and he pulls it free from its confines to stroke along the length once, slowly. Pressing his forehead against his mentor’s chest with a shuddering sigh, Eggsy looks down, trying to ignore the distracting snuffling thing Harry is doing to his hair. 

Oh, _fuck._

Eggsy can’t deny that he’s snuck sidelong glances during quick-changes in the back of the car, wondered at the teasing outline he’d caught after a swim in the sub-basement pool. But none of those stolen glimpses could have prepared him for the ridiculously impressive cock lying in his palm. A molten spike of arousal gut-punches through Eggsy, at the same time an icy chill of dread shivers down his spine, because there is _no way_ that thing is going to fit inside of him. 

Harry has shifted to the side, and is busy leaving a trail of teeth marks along the ball of Eggsy’s shoulder when the younger man gives an experimental twist of his wrist that drags his palm flat over the leaking head of Harry’s cock, and suddenly Eggsy is flat on his back again, blinking up at the ceiling. His brain struggles to fill in the gap, sluggish with the fog of his desire, when the spastic clench of long, powerful fingers curled around his neck causes his breath to catch, then release in one long hissing exhale as his arousal notches impossibly higher. 

A noise more animal than human claws its way up Harry’s throat, and the answering whine of need from Eggsy climbs a bit higher than he'd intended as it hums against the twitching palm of the older man where it rests against Eggsy’s Adam’s apple, and then Harry is spitting into his other hand and sliding his fist over his cock, leaving it shiny and wet. That same hand wraps around Eggsy’s thigh and pulls, yanking him halfway over the edge of the desk, and angling him until he feels the hot, blunt press of Harry’s cock against his skin. Inside Eggsy's chest something cracks open and expands, a bottomless well of emotion and desire, heat and arousal and an endless, aching _need_. The slick slide of Harry against him is too much, and nowhere near enough as Eggsy’s breath stutters in his chest, and he panics, flailing his arms and trying to sit up until Harry’s hand, still curled possessively around his throat, slams him back down onto the desk. 

“Wait-” but he’s too late, Harry pulls him down at the same time he presses forward, and Eggsy can’t take it. It’s too much, too big, there’s no way. Just when he thinks he’s going to tear, his body gives way and Harry bottoms out in one smooth thrust that has Eggsy’s hands scrambling against the desk and Harry’s name echoing in a scream off the walls. Pleasure sparks magnesium-hot deep in his belly even as the burn of the stretch has him clenching his teeth so hard he hears his jaw pop.

Loosening his grip on Eggsy's thigh, Harry's long arm snakes instead around his back and tightens, locking him in place. “Mine.” vibrates in a low hum against his skin and Eggsy can’t do anything but melt into the older man, wrapping his own sore arms around his mentor’s broad shoulders and letting his head fall back against the desk as something bright and painful hooks behind his heart at the pleased, possessive tone of Harry’s voice. He breathes in deeply, out slowly, concentrates on the familiar scent of Harry’s shampoo in sweat-dampened chestnut curls, and does his best to reign in his raging heartbeat, trying to relax around the stretch of Harry inside of him. 

He’s so full, seated snug into the hollow of Harry’s hips, stretched farther than he could have imagined possible, and yet feeling so perfectly complete. They fit together like two halves to a whole, Harry slotted between his thighs and buried so deeply inside of him it was like they’d been tailored just for each other, better than any expensive suit. Eggsy feels like he might fly apart in Harry’s hands. Scatter into a million pieces to be gathered, identified, labeled, and pinned in stylish shadowboxes alongside the other dead things in Harry’s small flat. What Eggsy wouldn’t give for Harry to keep him, even in broken little pieces, after this is all done. 

A lance of pain, sharp as broken glass and not in any way related to his injuries slices straight through him, and Eggsy can’t deal with that right now, so he pulls at Harry until the older man looks up, then ducks in for another kiss, shifts himself experimentally on Harry’s length, and rides the answering jump of Harry’s hips like a pro. A long, low groan that only just manages to hold onto the shape of Eggsy’s name claws its way up Harry’s throat, and Eggsy licks it eagerly from between his mentor’s lips. 

Harry moves slowly, shallow little thrusts that rock against him gently, letting Eggsy adjust because of course, _of course_ , even high on a potentially lethal biochemical weapon and drunk on insatiable, instinctive lust, Harry would be an attentive lover. 

It takes no time at all for those careful movements to slide straight past sweet and into not enough, leaving Eggsy to rock back onto Harry as much as he can with Harry’s hand still wrapped around his throat, seeking heat and friction and more. He squirms a bit at the sensation when he feels Harry draw back and drop his waist a few inches, sliding into him from a new angle, and then he’s arching up with a surprised cry, pressing himself tight against the length of Harry’s torso as the head of Harry’s cock presses at him just right and electric pleasure skips up his spine. Harry repeats the motion, a little harder, and Eggsy cries out again, a little louder. The hot huff of amusement that fans against his neck where Harry is licking at the spaces between his own fingers to get to Eggsy’s skin would normally piss Eggsy off, but at this moment he is too preoccupied with that insistent, rhythmic press, lighting him up and stealing all the air in his lungs. 

“Shit, Harry, please.” Eggsy hears himself gasp, and Harry’s growl is low, dangerous, and so fucking hot Eggsy almost comes just from the way it vibrates through his body. Releasing his neck, Harry’s hands slide up the sweat-slick curve of Eggsy’s spine, over the wings of his shoulder blades to curl over the top, fingertips pressing into the hollow just above his collarbone. Eggsy has less than a second to realize what this means, and then Harry is moving, Eggsy’s shoulders providing the leverage to slam him down to meet the sudden surge of Harry’s hips. 

Eggsy might have some idea of how Harry feels with that poison in his blood, because suddenly there is nothing in else in existence but the two of them. The slide of Harry’s chest over his, the rhythmic slap of Harry’s hips against his ass, the ragged breathing and needy little sounds that fly through the room to bounce off the walls and echo back to Eggsy, though he has no clue which of the men are making them. 

Eggsy arches against his mentor, instinctively moving to meet Harry with every driving thrust, and with another feral-sounding growl, Harry rises above him, releasing Eggsy’s shoulders in favor of wrapping one hand vice-tight around Eggsy‘s hip, the other reaching back and tucking into the bend of Eggsy‘s knee, drawing his leg up and holding it, keeping Eggsy spread wide for the next sharp snap of hips which sends a golden wave of pleasure cascading through him. Chestnut curls damp with sweat stick to his forehead, and his torn shirt is hanging off one shoulder. Eggsy watches the roll of Harry’s body as he fucks into the younger agent, and struggles to find enough space in his lungs to draw a breath. Harry pulls at Eggsy’s leg, hooking his ankle over his shoulder and wrapping an arm securely around his thigh. It lifts Eggsy at a slight angle, and suddenly everything is sharper, more intense. Eggsy cries out, watching as the older man turns his head to sink his teeth into the meat of his calf before licking gently over the sting. His gaze catches on Harry’s and sticks on the one pupil blown wide with lust, the hungry look on Harry’s face tempered now with something… softer. It takes him a long moment to realize that Harry’s started that breathless chant again, his mouth hot against the skin of Eggsy’s calf, teeth sharp and tongue soothing between panted words. 

“Eggsy, my Eggsy, all mine, only mine, Eggsy, I love you.” 

Eggsy freezes instantly, certain he’s misheard.

"I love you.” Harry repeats, soft and reverent, as if he’d only just realized.

“Don’t.” Eggsy intends for it to sound commanding, but it breaks apart somewhere along the way and ends up soft and shaky. 

_He doesn’t mean it. It’s just the drug. He doesn’t mean it. He’ll leave you when this is over. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it._ Eggsy chants over and over inside his head, keeping time with his breathing. This was a mistake, it hurts too much. 

“Eggsy.” 

“Harry, please.” 

“I love you.” the accompanying roll of Harry’s hips hits Eggsy just where Harry intends it to, and the younger man gasps, his entire body pulled taut by the heat that cascades through him so powerfully he feels dizzy in its wake. Harry takes the chance to slip an arm under Eggsy yet again, locking around his waist, pressing his captured leg up against his own chest. Eggsy has enough time to catch the dangerous flash in Harry’s eye, before the older agent sets a punishing rhythm, driving himself into Eggsy with such force that the desk scrapes across the floor. 

“Fuck! Oh, Jesus-” Eggsy loses himself, a ship lost at sea, riding the waves of pain and pleasure Harry’s pounding into him. He can feel his orgasm building fast, the fire stoked hotter and brighter with every long, deep stroke of Harry’s cock inside him. Suddenly Eggsy needs to come more than he needs to live, lifts his hands and buries them in the older man's hair, wraps his free leg tightly around Harry's hip, squeezing with every forward thrust, urging him faster, harder. Harry’s voice slips savage again as he lets go of Eggsy’s leg, which joins its twin, locked at the ankles behind Harry's hips, and collapses against the younger man, biting and sucking more bruises over the patchwork of marks already painted across Eggsy’s chest and neck. Eggsy’s helpless against it, scratches with blunt nails long, red welts across the breadth of Harry’s shoulders. Harry reaches up, buries a hand in his hair, and yanks his head to the side to get better access to his throat. The pain, the heat, the feeling of Harry above and within him, finally tip him over the edge and Eggsy comes, spilling untouched across his own stomach. Harry grunts above him, exhales hard against his throat as Eggsy squeezes tighter around his cock. 

With his vision blurred, head fuzzy, and entire body shuddering through the greatest orgasm of his fucking life, Eggsy focuses suddenly on the stretch of skin right in front of his face. Harry’s shoulder, exposed where his shirt had slid down his arm. A sudden, animal urge overwhelms him, a desperate need to leave his mark, and he pushes up, straining against Harry’s hand still pulling at his hair, and locks his mouth around the skin just above Harry’s collarbone. He sucks, then bites so hard he tastes the coppery bloom of blood on his tongue. Harry shudders against him, hips losing their rhythm and stuttering irregularly, then his entire body stiffens, curling over Eggsy with the force of his own orgasm. Eggsy groans around the skin caught in his mouth, licks slowly over the broken flesh as he struggles against the post-climax fog and tries to commit to memory the feeling of Harry swelling and spilling inside him. When Harry finally collapses, Eggsy takes his weight with ease, panting and flushed as he studies the wound he’d inflicted, already bruising around the tiny wells of bright red blood seeping to the surface. Even if it doesn’t scar, it will guarantee Harry remembers him for a while. 

The two agents lie for a long time in a heap draped across the desk, breathing together. When Eggsy feels something wet start to drip, he shifts uncomfortably, and yelps in surprise when Harry straightens in an instant and slams him down, pinning him to the desk with a wild look in his eye. 

“Harry?” For the first time Eggsy feels a real, cold wash of fear as Harry’s hands clamp down on him and violence vibrates through every muscle in the older man's body. He's reminded, jarringly, that underneath the perfectly tailored suit and posh gentleman's accent, Harry is essentially a weapon, personally responsible for putting hundreds of bodies in the ground. There’s a moment, endless and terrifying, where Eggsy thinks that maybe now Harry will kill him, and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad actually. But a flash of recognition chases across Harry’s face, and suddenly the older man is stepping back, pulling out of Eggsy’s sore, abused body and turning away. 

Eggsy slides immediately onto shaky, unsteady legs, scoops up his tracksuit from the floor, and moves to put the bulk of the desk between them. Stepping into the thin fabric as quickly as he can and trying to ignore the wet slide running down his inner thigh, Eggsy’s hand closes over the syringe in his pocket. 

Right. Blood sample. 

“Um…” He says smartly, settling his sweats into place on his hips and pulling out the needle. Harry flinches hard at the sound of his voice, but glances over his shoulder at him. Something dark and dangerous flashes when his gaze lights on the syringe, but Eggsy stays put and waits for Harry to look at his face again. “I need a blood sample, for a cure.” A long, tense silence stretches like a chasm between them, then Harry’s voice, rough and cracking, says, 

“Put it on the desk and back away.” 

Eggsy does as he’s told, backing halfway across the room. When Harry keeps staring over his shoulder at him, but makes no move toward the syringe, Eggsy backs up more, until his shoulders bump against the cool metal of the door. Harry turns only then, snatching up the syringe and shrugging out of the remnants of his torn shirt. His movements are quick and efficient, if a little too violent for Eggsy’s liking, as his hand curls into a fist and he slaps at the crook of his elbow, using his teeth to uncap the needle, sliding it into a vein, and pulling the plunger to fill the glass chamber. Eggsy takes a step toward him to take the syringe back, but Harry pins him in place with a vicious glare that turns him cold. The syringe is capped again and soaring toward him, and Eggsy plucks it from the air without looking before turning to the door.

The metal of the bio-scanner feels like ice under his palm as Eggsy unlocks the door and steps out. Just before the heavy metal swings back into place, he thinks he hears a broken, “I’m sorry.” 

Eggsy slides bonelessly to the floor, his body finally voicing its displeasure at all the abuse. His shoulder is aching so badly he wonders distantly if he’s dislocated it again. His cracked ribs are on fire, and his ass is so sore he sits on the hard tile leaning mostly onto his hip. He stares blindly at the syringe of Harry’s blood in his hand, mindlessly tilting it back and forth to keep it from congealing before he can get it to Roxy. 

\------------------------

She finds him there, just like that, twenty minutes later, and has to call Merlin to help her get him back to his room. Neither of them comment on the bruises covering his skin, the glassy look in his eyes, or the shattered way his breath is shuddering in and out of him. Merlin cleans him up in the shower, sits him like a broken doll on the chair in his room, tapes up his ribs and slips a sling over his head and around his damaged arm, now hanging limp and as numb as the rest of him by his side. Merlin eases him down onto the bed, and though Eggsy opens his mouth to protest that he couldn’t possibly sleep now, darkness overtakes him before he’s even fully on the mattress. 

Hours later Roxy tells him she has no idea how either of them are still alive, as Harry has twelve times the normally lethal dose of Primal in his system. She estimates it will take two weeks for her to synthesize a cure, and does it in six hours instead.

Harry’s in a medically-induced coma for seventeen days, most of which Eggsy spends cursing at Merlin for revoking his security clearance to the medical wing.

“You both need your rest.” or some bullshit. 

It’s nearly a month before Eggsy sees Harry again, when the older man appears unexpectedly from an open door halfway down the hall Eggsy is mindlessly wandering down. Something tight and heavy that had been twisting in Eggsy’s chest loosens and falls away at the sight of him. If Harry is here, in the common areas of the Kingsman headquarters, he’s doing better and has been released from medical. Relief washes through Eggsy as he drinks in the sight of his mentor. 

He’s thinner, his suit hanging off him oddly where it used to cling to strong, solid muscle. His hair is longer, slightly unkempt and curling up where it sits on the collar of his shirt. There’s a shadow of beard on his face, and Eggsy wonders why Harry doesn’t keep it like that all the time because it definitely suits the strong cut of his jaw.

Harry’s eye sweeps over him in turn, and Eggsy knows what he sees. He’s lost weight too, though he doesn’t have a coma to blame it on. His arm is still in a sling, since the searing pain he’d felt after leaving the office hadn’t been a freshly dislocated shoulder socket, but badly torn tendons. The dark smudges which had become a permanent fixture under his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t sleeping, and the fact that he was aimlessly wandering the halls of Kingsman in nothing but a t-shirt, basketball shorts, and house slippers would say everything that needed to be said about his mental state to an observant man like Harry.

Harry turns toward him suddenly, and Eggsy starts, taking a step back. Something flashes across the older man’s face, and Eggsy thinks maybe it looks a bit like hurt, but he can’t be sure. He recovers quickly and takes a step forward, then another. He had been walking this way before he’d seen Harry, no reason to turn tail and run away. What looks like panic flashes in Harry’s gaze, and something fragile inside Eggsy breaks.

Obviously Harry didn’t want to see him. 

Razor-winged butterflies tear through his insides as he draws nearer to the older agent, and the easy way Eggsy manages to breeze wordlessly past his mentor feels like a tiny death. There is no pain greater than this, Eggsy thinks. If someone offered to break every bone in his body, shoot, stab, and then set him on fire, he would happily sign on the dotted line if it meant escaping the burning, dry-ice ache of the black hole which had taken up residence in the space where his heart used to be. He’d turn at the end of this hallway and work his way back to Merlin’s office, and put in a request to withdraw from Kingsman immediately. Now that he knew Harry was okay, there was no reason for him to remain here. 

The fingers that catch his wrist are thin, but strong. Eggsy stops walking, but doesn’t turn, his heart suddenly alive again and kicking painfully against still-healing ribs. 

“Eggsy.” Christ, he sounds _awful_. Eggsy waits, but when Harry doesn’t speak again, or move to release his wrist, he turns. The look on Harry’s face knocks the breath from his lungs and has him tripping over his own feet even though he’d only taken two steps to turn around. There is sadness, concern, fear. Eggsy can see in Harry's eye the deep scars of trauma, torn open and bleeding pain that he'd been used again to take the lives of people he had no business killing. But beneath it all, dimly shining in a desperate bid to push back against the darkness, was a glimmer of hope. Cautious, guarded, but hope nonetheless. Eggsy’s laugh is only about thirty-five percent broken, happy sob, and he counts that as a win as he sags, stepping right into Harry’s space and leaning against him heavily. 

“I love you too, you mad bastard.” 

Harry’s huff of laughter puffs into Eggsy’s hair as his arms close around the younger man, mindful of his injured shoulder. Eggsy turns his face up, nuzzles into Harry’s neck and breathes in the scent of him, marvels at how quickly this man can hurt and heal him, the beginning and end to every problem in Eggsy's life, and his absolute _favorite_ person. Harry turns his face to rest his cheek on the top of Eggsy’s head, sighs so heavily it sways Eggsy against him. 

“Mine.” 

Eggsy hums his agreement into the warm skin of Harry’s throat, kisses gently just under the hinge of his jaw, feeling the scratch of day-old stubble. 

“Yours.”

-END-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to update! I just wasn't happy with it and ended up rewriting it from scratch three times! But as a result, it ended up doubling the word count, so that's good, I hope. I will definitely be writing more of these two, so if you enjoyed this one please subscribe or check back!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and for all the comments and kudos! ~


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